


Gun Show

by fascinationex



Series: transformers fics by fascinationex [13]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Gun Kink, M/M, Nipple Play, Prompt Fic, one of those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fascinationex/pseuds/fascinationex
Summary: For the prompt, "Whirl getting his titty guns manhandled 😉".
Relationships: Brainstorm/Whirl (Transformers)
Series: transformers fics by fascinationex [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1311599
Comments: 8
Kudos: 74





	Gun Show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trinary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trinary/gifts).



> I asked for smut prompts over [on twitter](https://twitter.com/fascination_ex/status/1202516023619883009) and people were kind enough to respond to me. This one is for the prompt, "Whirl getting his titty guns manhandled" kindly given by Trinary.
> 
> Please note that I have never read any IDW and have absolutely no experience with these characters.

The ceiling was pretty much all Whirl could see, unless you counted the occasional flick of one of Brainstorm’s wings in his peripheral vision. And the ceiling in Brainstorm’s laboratory? Had _seen some slag_ , Whirl was just saying.

Whirl had come here for an upgrade.

“It’s fine,” Brainstorm had said, just three nights ago at Swerve’s, even as he was conspicuously pouring engex into the intake in his arm instead of, like, just taking his face mask off. Whirl could respect a mech that dedicated to pretending he had no mouth. Probably. Maybe. Irony, right? Haha. “I’ve done heaps of live mods on internal systems.”

“Uh,” said Chromedome, from one seat away, “are you –?”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t finish the question?”

“Yes, I know.” Brainstorm said. He looked back at Whirl. “Overload-powered front-mounted guns. Think about it. _You_ go off, _they_ go off.”

Whirl thought about it. Every time he’d ever commented on shooting Decepticons until he overloaded, it had been, like, _metaphorical_ , but –

“That sounds,” said Chromedome, in the tone of someone thoroughly prepared to be ignored, “like a _catastrophically_ bad idea.”

Turned out Chromedome had good instincts about that kind of thing: he went completely ignored.

Whirl watched as Brainstorm sealed the intake in his arm again, which was about as long as it took for him to think it through and to say: “ _Yes_.”

“Oh, get one for me, too,” Brainstorm said over his wing, to Chromedome, who had gotten up with one of those _looks_ on his face to get another five drinks.

 _Make it six,_ Whirl heard Chromedome say heavily to Swerve, who pulled a face.

Brainstorm’s chair swivelled with him, which was weird, because Whirl didn’t remember any swivelly chairs in Swerve’s. He turned back to Whirl, and then there was some serious optic contact going on and Whirl forgot all about whatever the Chromedome situation over there was.

Technically, the bar had been full at the time—from Rodimus making an ill-advised wager to Trailbreaker dozing in his own lubricant six chairs away—but the feverish intensity of Brainstorm’s frankly unsettling stare drowned out the rest of the bar entirely.

“Yes?” he asked, leaning in, yellow optics gleaming, wings twitching with tiny little wriggles of excitement. _Yes, yes, fun yes?_ they wriggled, clear as starlight to another flier.

What, like Whirl was gonna say no? “ _Yes_.”

…And then he’d reminded Whirl not to, under any circumstances, _ever_ , tell Ultra Magnus that he was doing it.

So as far as Whirl had been concerned, this was going to be really bad or _really awesome._

And now he was sprawled out dramatically on Brainstorm’s lab table, limbs everywhere, taking up a physically improbable amount of space with all his most spindly bits. He’d come here with the expectation of seeing some comforting scorch marks, maybe some ill-advised holes in that ceiling. Some nice, messy slag that would make him totally aware that he wasn’t on a medical slab.

There were scorch marks, and at least one open hole. It led into mysterious shadows above and seemed to have a tangled arrangement of straps dangling from it, so that seemed, uh, kinky. But there was also evidence that this ceiling was a veteran. An old timer, who probably sneered at lesser, inexperienced ceilings. It had plainly seen _some stuff_. Whirl spotted a series of pipes of dubious, slapdash-looking construction, a fresh weld mark, a chair apparently glued there upside-down, and an acid-green stain that seemed like maybe it was smiling at him.

None of that made a single dent in the awareness that Brainstorm’s sleek thighs were long and silky and smooth on either side of his own waist. He was a warm weight, softly scented by cordite and burning plastics, comfortably heavy on Whirl’s frame, and thrumming gently with the soft hum of internal mechanics at rest. His wings stuck out, long and sharp and twitching occasionally, irrepressible in excitement.

Also he was wrist-deep in Whirl’s chassis and had a long, modded cleaning rod shoved right up the barrel of one of his forward guns. Minor details.

“You’ll probably feel this hit your sensornet soon,” he was explaining.

Mostly Whirl had tuned him out. But now he was thinking about it. Gun, interfacing system; gun, interfacing system. Sexy. But maybe… _too_ sexy?

“Sooo… what’re the chances this’ll blow _me_ up when I overload?”

“Uhh…” There was a clank, which Whirl felt all the way through the barrel of the gun and into his sensory network.

A second later, Brainstorm put a hand on top if his protruding cockpit and shoved down to give himself more leverage to meet Whirl’s optic over it. Whirl could feel the conspicuous shift of the cables in his thighs as he did it, sliding with a soft _shiing_ of metal against his own smooth waist. He could feel the little smudge from Brainstorm’s lubricant-smeared hand on the glass there.

“If it does, is that going to be a problem for you?”

There was a pause while Whirl considered that. It went on for a while. He had a lot of options to weigh up, here –

“Zero point two per cent, rounding up, unless you do it on purpose,” said Brainstorm, settling back down on his waist with a heavy-sounding _clonk_.

Clearly, he’d gotten impatient or something about Whirl’s ostentatious dithering regarding the likelihood of an explosion next to his spark chamber. Not much in _there_ worth protecting! Ask, like, anyone. Haha. Ha.

“So… don’t try to plug in next to the quantum engines and you should be fine. Unless you want that. And if you do… try _someone else’s_ quantum engines. And stop moving. I know I make it look effortless, but this isn’t exactly mechanics 101 going on here.”

There was another scrape from the weird brush at the end of his cleaning rod. Whirl’s whole frame jolted in response, and in the odd, humming quiet of Brainstorm’s lab, the noise of his fans kicking on was extremely obvious.

“Was the part about not moving somehow unclear for you?” Brainstorm wondered loudly.

Another shove, and this one Whirl did manage to stay still for, which was almost worse. Some component deep in his chassis went _**click**_ , which seemed to be what Brainstorm was waiting for because his electromagnetic field flared, satisfied and anticipatory. The result, however, was that the rod in Brainstorm’s hand twisted just a little and drove way, way deeper than before. Whirl could feel the impact behind it, tingling with unexpected static across something _extremely sensitive._

He didn’t even know what the component was – he just wanted it to happen again. “Frag. _Frag. Do that again_.”

“Seriously? This is a serious thing you’re asking me right now?” Brainstorm’s yellow optics peered down at him, gleaming from above, as he shifted angle to catch Whirl’s optic again.

The mask made his expression a little harder to read – not that Whirl really had room to talk there, exactly – but his EMF was a tangle of fluctuating feelings. Chief among them was a potent combination of smugness and glee.

“You want me to shove a brush down the barrel of your forward gun until you overload?”

“A mech has needs,” Whirl said loftily – or, well, it was _going_ to be lofty, but Brainstorm didn’t even bother waiting for his answer. He just shifted the angle so the bristles caught on exactly the right components, deep in Whirl’s frame. Whirl’s vocaliser crackled in the middle of ‘needs’, and trailed off into a very eloquent, “ _Hnnnnnnght_.”

Brainstorm’s field flickered wildly. The hand not holding the rod dug beneath his cockpit, clever fingers sliding between mechanical parts until he found where the gun mount was now wired into his sensory network.

Then he _pinched_ , the rude fragger.

Whirl squealed and kicked one leg so hard he almost hurled a suddenly-cackling Brainstorm from his perch. His fans went from a dull hum to a scream and his plating flared hard to disperse the sudden, itching build up of heat in his protoform beneath the armour.

“Oh, yeah. _There it is,”_ crowed Brainstorm, in a tone that meant something was cool and he was fascinated, or else possibly that something was about to go catastrophically poorly and he was still fascinated because it wasn’t going poorly for _him._ “I bet it does that every time now.”

He braced himself for any more wild flailing this time and then tried again, tweaking the wires with more enthusiasm than particular gentleness. They were very sensitive, enough that Whirl couldn’t really tell for a moment if the feeling pricking out over his whole chest – tingling over his spark chamber, even, like the most intimate, claw-scraping caress – was a good one or a bad one. It was just – just a lot.

“Uh,” he said, and then Brainstorm did it again, softer, optics narrowed, and his whole frame melted like mercury against the table. That was it, he was gone, his processor was a puddle. “ _Ohhhh_.”

“Gun, meet interfacing system,” Brainstorm said, bright and smug. _So smug._

Whirl magnanimously didn’t make the rude rejoinder he totally, absolutely, definitely had, mostly because his processor was suddenly marinating in new, beautiful, glowing chemicals, all the result of millions of little pleasure signals firing aimlessly in his sensornet every time Brainstorm’s fingers twitched.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but did you know I have another o – ONE – Frag. _Frag. Oh. Ahh_ –” Whirl cut himself off on a long, loud groan when Brainstorm pulled the cleaning rod right out, hard and fast, with what seemed to be absolutely no concern or regard for the fact that the gun it had been inserted in was in any way attached to, like, anything important. Say, Whirl.

Whirl’s frame was jerking, legs twitching and spasming gently as he fought really hard not to knock Brainstorm off by accident. It might not even have made a difference, because dislodging him would have taken a fair effort: Brainstorm’s thighs were clamped, steely and hard, around his waist.

Annnnd there he was, Brainstorm was talking again, instead of touching Whirl in this new, exciting, processor-blowing way. “That's a complication I didn’t think about. Can you fly like this?”

Whirl wasn’t entirely sure he could coordinate sufficiently to _walk_ like this. “Sure,” he croaked. He wasn’t sure Brainstorm even meant the next one, because it felt like just random thoughtful movements of his hands, but he shuddered hard in response.

“Absolutely. Uh. Wanna see?” _Please say no._

Brainstorm’s optics said he didn’t believe Whirl at all—it occurred to Whirl that Brainstorm did, in fact, fly, which might have been contributory—but his vocaliser said, “Maybe later. _After_ we calibrate for sensitivity.”

 _Frag yes,_ thought Whirl, and then Brainstorm twisted his fist around a barrel again.

“Genius plan,” gasped Whirl.

“Mine all are,” Brainstorm assured him, and then Whirl stopped thinking of anything at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the earlier note, I have no experience with IDW and therefore I am certain that any criticism of my characterisation is probably legit LMAO.
> 
> That said, if you liked something in this fic, please feel free to tell me if you're inclined towards commenting.


End file.
